


Heart of Grey

by Karyra



Series: An Altered Age [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Ghibli Elements, Modern AU with some sci-fi twists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karyra/pseuds/Karyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh Grey Warden, what have you done? You've fallen from the sky, and undone the Blight. A tale retold but not the same, but oh, Grey Warden what have you done?</p><p>Some things are the same, but too much of the world has changed. Sky pirate elves roam the skies, mages lie in towers and never see the ground, and dwarves know too much. If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people.</p><p>Grey Warden, what have you done?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tower in The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Heart of Grey!
> 
> Basically, I plan on trying to keep chapters short, but this results in more chapters. The guideline will be the original game, but I plan on taking a lot of liberties with this universe. 
> 
> I don't own Dragon Age. If I did Inquisition would have smaller maps and faster mounts.
> 
> If you wanna scream in my inbox about this fanfic, you can find me at:  
> darkeyednobody.tumblr.com

Once upon a time, there was a redheaded elf girl with her head literally in the clouds. Her dreams were much like any other in the ethereal obsidian tower. To escape. To touch the ground again.

She watched the land below the tower move below, peering over the edge of the courtyard to see Lake Calenhad. The last time that the Circle had visited Lake Calenhad was only a year ago, but the glittering water that had been just out of reach always held a mystical quality to it. As though every year they promised that someday soon, Fiova Surata would be able to touch the water below.

She imagined it would be cold, and have fish like in the books. Her feet dangled over the edge, and she wondered if she could jump down into the water so far below and escape the Tower. To feel the grass below her bare feet.

“Fiova! Fiova where are you?”

“Over here! On the edge!” she called back to the scrawny black haired man. Waving her arm lazily without turning around to face him.

“Wh-why must you always do this! Someday the Templars are really gonna catch you!” he said, nervously moving close to her, but not close enough to the edge to see over it.

She laid back on the grass to see the sky above her, letting her messy braid be strewn across the grass. She seemed to think on the point the man had brought up, but stood up instead of remaining on the edge.

“Pfft,” she laughed, “I got one smitten with me, so I doubt that he’ll bring it up at the very least. Plus, it’s not like I’m doing magic out here.” Her accent made her statement stronger somehow, even if they threatened her with blunt swords her they couldn’t beat out the Dalish part of her. Even if she’d never met another Dalish before.

“Cullen? He’s a recruit that believes in the Order wholeheartedly, he’d totally rat you out!” The man said nervously, taking Fiova’s arm and pulling her into the courtyard proper. Fiova let him pull her, since she had to go that way anyway.

“Whatever, Jowan. Besides, I wanted to see the lake again before I did my Harrowing,” she said as she began to meander over to the tall wooden doors.

“I wish I was on the list. I’d be lucky not to be made Tranquil, to be honest. They don’t put a list of that up on Tower though.” He said. He opened his phone again to check it, flicking quickly through the mass of posts made my apprentices who were nervous about The Harrowing. Which was every apprentice except Fiova, it seemed.

They were lucky to have a way to communicate at all. And even then, it was just within this Circle, nowhere else in the world. If you moved to a different Circle elsewhere, it all went away and you had to start over with strangers there as well as all around you.

Fiova thought of one of the requirements for the Harrowing, mostly she’d been trying to forget about it, but Jowan nervously clutching his simple mage’s staff made of plain wood and a crystal reminded her.

“Hey, uh, I still can't summon my staff,” Fiova said, trying to look casual. “Can I-”

“Borrow mine? No. The Templars will know whose it is right away.” To make his point clearer, he dismissed it in a swirl of green, returning it to the Fade.

“But Jowwwwwaaaaaan-” Fiova complained, drawing out his name like a child.

“You haven’t even tried to summon yours, I bet.”

“But-”

“I’m sorry, but if they catch you we both end up on the chopping block!” Jowan said, a little louder than he’d meant to.

Fivoa didn’t want to say it, but she had to, because Jowan would just get worse if she pushed the topic. “You’re right. It was stupid to ask,” Fiova said. “I hope they won’t fail me just based on that, though.”

“It’s not ‘fail’ in as much as it becomes your execution, Fi.”

As they reached the doors, Fiova blew a raspberry to give off aloofness. Some days, it was too bad that she was such a great actor.

The hall split two ways, a small entryway to the right was where storage was. It usually contained position and poultice ingredients. The hall ahead was all vaulted ceilings and red carpeting. Sometimes if you looked closely at the dark brick of the walls, you could see scorch marks and other kinds of damage from new mages. The Templars had made rules about magic in the hallway, but it wasn’t a new rule.

“Well, my barracks are the other way, good luck Fi,” Jowan said as he waved goodbye. 

Fiova didn’t say anything, it wasn’t unusual for him go off to the Chantry but say he was going somewhere else. He was probably hitting up another mage for... relations or something. Either way, it felt like a secret code. She and Jowan were close, and spoke often, but she liked to imagine that they were close enough to have one. Even if on a lot of wavelengths, they just didn’t understand each other.

Fiova hoped it wouldn’t be the last time they spoke, but without a staff to focus her magic through she was weaker magically. She needed something to focus through or she’d just get overwhelmed with everything that the Fade would throw at her. She just hoped the power she had in the Fade would be enough to carry her through something called ‘The Harrowing’. Even the name was off putting. She guessed Templars had a flair for the dramatic.

Fiova caught her hands starting to shake at the thought of becoming possessed.

Fiova closed her hand and tried to picture a flame inside, a tiny bit of warmth that signalled that she still had power, she still had something. She tugged at the edges of reality, where she could feel the Fade and pulled them to where she wanted them, and told the tiny rift of Fade what she wanted. When she opened her hand, the tiny blue flame danced, swaying less than if she’d made it a more gentle flame. Her control was out the window, but the test was more about warding off demons than control, so she figured she’d be okay.

“You’re, uh, not supposed to do that in the halls, Miss Fiova.”

At the sound of the familiar Templar voice, Fiova banished the flame by closing her hand again. She nearly burned her fingers doing it, but it was the quickest way to smother the flame. The coldness that crept in afterwards was noticeable, but she wouldn’t tell him why she’d summoned it.

“Cullen! I... I was just practicing for The Harrowing.” Fiova mumbled out.

“I understand, but it’s...” Cullen looked away and mumbled, “it’s in the rules, miss.”

No magic anywhere but where permitted. Fiova was also certain that there was a rule that said ‘no fun allowed, either’.

“You can just call me Fi. We’ve known each other forever, Cullen.” She said, smiling.

“Yes, Miss Fi.”

The blond Templar was close with Fiova, which wasn’t hard. Even if he was a Templar and had different responsibilities, it wasn’t like the Templars could live elsewhere. Flying towers full of mages tended to require close quarters and regular interaction.

He had on the official armor of the Templars, she noticed. Silverite plate that had been fitted and altered to channel Lyrium all over so that Templar just need to press a button to activate their powers. The red robes underneath were like the Chantry monk’s, which allowed for him to able to move quickly. He probably had a new starlight sword too, as they’d found the foreign stone allowed Templars to destroy a mage’s summoned staff easily.

Close enough to my nickname I suppose, Fiova thought. She walked with him down the long corridor. “Do you know if mages fail if they can’t summon their staves?”

“Uhm, far as I know it’s just if they get possessed or not. Ultimately, it’s up to whoever is on the exe- I mean proctor spot.”

She leaned on him for more information, exploiting the chink in his armor while avoiding thinking about what Cullen had about to say before he said proctor. Metaphorically. Fiova wanted to shudder at the idea of doing anything further with Cullen of all people. They were just friends, and it never hurt to be friends with a Templar. “Do you have any insider information, Knight-Commander Cullen?” Fiova laughed.

“That’s not my rank, and what I’ve already told you is enough to get me in trouble,” Cullen said as they arrived. He looked down at his shoes, as though they would give him confidence. “B-before you go in, I-I want you to know that I-I-”

“Recruit Cullen. Are you ready to Proctor-” a Senior Templar exited the Harrowing room, the Lyrium veined chestplate faintly glowing. “Oh! I see I interrupted you. Feel free to enter at any time, mage.”

Fiova was silent, her eyes darting to the sword at the Senior Templar’s side. While the Templars said they kept their tools sharp at all times, Fiova knew better. The only day they sharpened those blades was on The Harrowing. Much more fun to beat mages with blunt weapons, after all. These weren’t Magekillers, after all, they were just in charge of keeping order in the tower.

“No, it wasn’t anything too important. I’d much rather get this over with,” Fiova said. Plus, it’s not gonna matter much if I fail or they make me Tranquil or kill me. Sorry Cullen, you can tell me another time.

“W-wait. I wanted to give the mage something before she started, she left it in her bunk.” Cullen said, somewhat louder than before.

He turned and pressed a small dagger into her hand, it was small enough that if she closed her hand it would be concealed. It would cut her palm some because it was unsheathed, but it would be worth it if she could take it into the Fade.

“Ah, my good luck charm! Thank you, Cullen,” Fiova said, smiling for real. While she hid it in her sleeve.

Weapons weren’t allowed unless you could summon them or were a Templar. This dagger was probably of Templar make and would be noticed if it went missing. She’d have to ask Cullen about it later and return it. Or she’d just be thrown off the Tower and left to rot in the lake below.

For now, The Harrowing.

They moved into the large, circular room, it was surrounded by stained glass of Andraste and various scenes from The Chant that Fiova only knew because the Templars insistend on mages going to the Chantry every week. It painted the room in glittering greens and reds, like the light was at war with itself. It didn’t make Fiova feel any better, and she was certain that she was going to fail. 

As long as she thought of it as a ‘pass or fail’ situation she could convince herself that she wasn’t going to die in this room.

“R-right. I wi-will be in charge of Proctoring your Harrowing, Fiova Surata.” She’d nearly forgotten Cullen was here. “Before we begin, you are allowed to submit to the Rite of Tranquility to avoid The Harrowing. If not, and you become possessed during the test, you are to be executed on the spot. B-by the Proctor. W-which is m-me.”

“Wait,” Fiova said. “I thought that being the Proctor for a Harrowing was the only way for a Templar Recruit to gain a rank?” So they had to kill a mage, watch them become an abomination, or fight off demons to rise past recruit. Fiova didn’t like the implications.

“It is,” the Senior Templar said, her eyes coldly watching Fiova. Like a predator sizing up prey.

“Oh. I... kinda wish I’d been told that earlier.” Fiova shifted on her feet, but tried to keep her game face on.

“When you complete The Harrowing, you will also gain a rank in the Circle. You will gain access to new knowledge that may disillusion you about the Circle. This is a reminder that becoming a Tranquil is always an option.” Fiova didn’t like how the older woman said that, and how the Rite seemed to be pushed forward as an option once again.

Fiova tried to justify that they didn’t want to fight an Abomination.

“No, I’m going to do The Harrowing. Without a staff, since I can’t summon mine.”

“Pl-please try, Miss Fiova,” Cullen said.

He had a point, she realized. It’d be better to try and fail than to simply assume she couldn’t summon it. Plus, she might be able to summon it better in the presence of Lyrium, it was already washing over her.

Fiova reached out her hand, reaching also with her mind into the Fade, searching for her staff. Good mages could ‘store’ their staves in the Fade, which made it easier to travel and care for them. It always seemed so easy, like a flick of the wrist and there they were. Fiova reached out for her pictured staff, but it didn’t appear so she made hers over again.

It was simple, just plain oak with a top like a tree’s branches. Inside was a gem to focus, and a blade for close range. Simple, and plain like her. For once she realized that her fingers would brush the wood of the hilt, when before it would simply be out of reach completely. It seemed to shimmer before her eyes so close and yet so far, but when she closed her hand around it, it vanished into mist.

When she opened her eyes, she saw nothing in her hand as well.

“Welp, I tried. Guess I’m punching some demon butt, then,” Fiova said, smiling to cover up how close she had been.

Silence.

Fiova stuffed down her feeling of foreboding.

Well, that joke went over well. Guess it’s true about Templars. They do not like jokes.

“I will allow it,” Cullen said from where he stood behind Fiova.

The Senior Templar considered it for a moment. “You know the rules, I assume?” she asked.

“Touch the lyrium, go into the Fade, kick demon ass, return without becoming an abomination. Easy peasy.” Fiova said, trying to keep upbeat, despite the floor seeming to open under her feet.

“Most mages without staves fail.” Templar woman said.

“Well some pass, apparently,” Fiova muttered under her breath. Then she added, “I understand, and won’t undergo the Rite. You can’t make me Tranquil,” Fiova said loudly and clearly.

They could. Everyone in this room knew it. But she hoped Templars had a conscience at the very least.

“We can, but we choose to respect your wishes and allow you to do the Harrowing. Please place your hand inside the lyrium to begin.”

Well, it was do or die time, it seemed like, so Fiova shot Cullen a smile and moved towards the pedestal and bowl. As she stared into the turquoise surface of the Lyrium, she laughed at her own silent joke. It was literally do or die time. Fiova clutched the dagger tighter.

“Here goes nothing,” Fiova said as she plunged her hand into the blue depths of the Lyrium.


	2. Music of the Heart

Fiova woke up in the tower barracks. As her eyes scanned the familiar beams she realized one thing; she slept on the bottom bunk. She rolled out of bed, clumsily falling to the floor with a dull thud.

“Okay. I can feel pain in the Fade.” Fiova squeaked out as she rolled over to clutch her arm and side in pain. “Good to know. Incentive to not die. At least, not to die painfully.”

“What’s wrong, da’len?”

Fiova twisted to see a dalish elf, walking up to her. Fiova gawked at the fancy green armor and cool face tattoos before moving to stand up. “N-nothing. Uh, do you know where we are?”

“We’re home, on the aravels! Geez, you hit your head in that fall?” The elf said as they offered a hand to her, but quickly retracted it once she was standing up.

“N-no. Uh, but I thought-” as she looked around as she stood, it seemed part of the tower, also partly made of wood, some kind of fusion of the Aravels she’d read about and the tower barracks.

“Come on, the Keeper needs you, First.” The elf said, lightly punching Fiova in the shoulder before departing as quickly as they had appeared.

“Didn’t even get your name.” The door shut behind the elf, almost slamming closed. “Or your gender.” Fiova said to the closed door that the elf had left through only moments before. “Fantastic. I get to deal with a Desire demon. Or this is my dream. Both are complicated starting places. Okay, so.... first step: find demon. Next step: kill demon. Easy peasy. I don’t even need-”

Fiova quickly realized that she’d either dropped the knife or left it in the real world. Both weren’t ideal, and she wasn’t sure if the knife would return with her when she got back from the Fade. After a scramble, she found it. The dagger was under the bed, which after a closer look, the bed was simply riveted to the wall, and held in place by two beams, distracting her from her knife quest. Fiova pushed it up and discovered that it folded in close to the wall.

“Cool.” She said at her discovery. She marveled at it for a few minutes before snapping back to focus on the task at hand. “Right, the Harrowing. No time for cool. Time for demons and fighting and- oh Maker I’m dead.”

She held the dagger tightly, after grabbing it from the floor and holding it in her hands for a moment before standing again. She could use it as a focus, if she had to. She closed her eyes and tried to think of how magic felt, that musical harmony just below the surface of the world.

It felt ever so slightly different in the Fade, it was clearer and some of the notes had been given a different pitch because of it, but she couldn’t tell which ones had changed. Along the knife, it was quiet, as expected from something of Templar make, the edges of the dagger singing only slightly with the temptation of blood magic. It felt like red notes, angry but somehow powerful too, and it was rhythmic and steady. Like a heartbeat, Fiova realized. She was not pleased at the realization.

As she searched out for demonic music, which she always pictured as different per demon and person, and she felt a presence that she could only describe as ‘lavender’. Soft and playful, but made of a color that could hint danger and suspense. As opposed to other demons’ songs that she’d been presented with, it was played with a soft acoustic guitar as opposed to the harsh screeching of an electric one.

Fiova stopped after she determined that the song was all around, woven deeply into the wood of the room Fiova had woken up in. Now that she was aware of it, the melody played gently in the back of her mind, like a song you woke to in your head, barely there but it was there and there was no way to remove it.

She wondered if telling no one how she saw magic was a mistake, that she had some gift that the other mages lacked in some way. Then again, the way they taught magic was more fear tactic than teaching. Demonic possession was the end all be all for mages, it always happened and you might as well expect it at the end of your life.

Fear twisted in her gut that she could become an abomination very soon.

The ship twisted, the wooden paneling starting to morph into horrendous images set in stained glass of Templar killing mages or of abominations of mages killing others. Of mages defiling the Golden City. She had to stop her dream from becoming a nightmare now or she’d cause herself more trouble. Fiova closed her eyes and imagined holding her hands over her heart like one would do to a speaker when they had no other form of volume control. It was her only way of muffling her own music, grey and ugly and seemingly aimless.

It sounded to her ears like a wind chime, tossed around in gale force winds. Sharp and disorganized, no real form to it and no real point either. So she always grasped her heart in her mind to strangle it and quiet the noise so that no one could hear it even when it wasn’t necessary to ensure her magic remained in control. Sometimes, though, when she was alone she liked to softly stroke those windchimes, hear them pleasantly chime against the gentle force of her hand. Like when she created the flame in the hallway.

It was still ugly when she heard it compared to others’ music. Jowan was a soft red saxophone piece that sounded like a bird attempting to fly and crashing to the ground. Cullen was the sound of a gold drumbeat, softly but steadily moving its way through the song, slow and easy but also so quiet that you could barely hear it, like the other Templars. Fiova found Cullen’s music calming and steadying, which was why she liked to be with him.

Fiova thought about the Tranquil, the absence of sound, so quiet it made your ears ring from the silence. So she closed her eyes and waited to see if the music had quieted in her own heart before moving out the door to see the trap that had been laid for her.

“Why’d you stop?” a voice from behind Fiova made her jump and wield the knife threateningly.

It was a song of bright purple, a piano piece of loneliness and uniqueness that wove through the soul and seemed timeless. It belonged to a Desire demon, the longing notes hanging in the air gave it away.

“It was pretty, but I guess I can see why you don’t like it. I can see all those ugly thoughts of yours too, they sour that pretty little heart of yours.” The demon had the traditional purple skin and horns as described in the books, but instead of purple flames, a long ponytail of black hair was nestled between the large horns. The demon laid in the air, as though some unseen force were supporting it from underneath. The ponytail dangled down to the ground, barely brushing the dirt there.

“Begone, demon!” Fiova said, brandishing her tiny knife at the demon.

It watched the knife borely with its purple irises. “Wrong one there, Grey. You’re smack dab in Pride demon territory. Namely Bleozor, who is kinda pissed a mage ended up here. Seems like everyone forgot it was Harrowing time. Kind of a pain in the ass.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Fiova asked, preparing a spell just in case.

“Uh, because I want this real estate, duh.” The desire demon said while floating up to Fiova and flicking her on the nose. “Though, I’d rather follow you around, you look like you’re going to be interesting, at least. Worth not having one place in the Fade to call home.”

Fiova nearly cut off the demon’s hand in response to his rather rude gesture of flicking her nose. It didn’t hurt, but the action of having her nose flicked made her feel like a child.

“Maker, why are you being so rude?” it asked, pulling its hand back and cradling it with the other hand, as though wounded by the missed knife attack. “I’m not even interested in possessing a person. Besides, you’re not nearly hot enough to be the form I use to go back to the real world.”

Fiova didn’t know what to respond to first. “You’re a demon! All you want is to go back there! And what do you mean I’m not hot enough, I’m the hottest elf in the tower!”

“Pfft, and here I thought that you knew that they lie all the time. Eh, you’ll figure it out. Plus, if you’re the hottest elf, then you must be the only elf in the tower.” It said, slightly irritated. “Besides, I just want to not be bored. I go back to the real world and I create an abomination, I get killed and end up back here. It’s a real stupid plan.”

Fiova had to admit that the demon had a point. “So, you help me kill this... Bleozor, and you won’t possess me?”

“No I won't possess you, but I’ll pop into your dreams. I haven’t had anyone to watch for a long time. All we’ll do is chat about your day, and I promise to help you out if you need it. I’m Zuxal, by the way. Since we’re apparently past the stage of threatening each other with knives and such.”

She glared at him for a while before saying, “Fiova. Fiova Surata.”

“Oooh, it’s very elven, isn’t it? I thought that it’d be more human than that. ‘Cause you’re a Circle mage and all that junk.”

“I was raised in a clan then I was given to the Circle.”

Zuxal looked skeptical, but made no comment against it. “So, Fiova, we’ve got a bit of walking to do to reach this Pride demon. Would you like me to keep making the illusions for you or would you rather just stare at the Fade in all its boring glory?”

“I’d rather look at the Fade normally, no illusions.” Fiova replied, watching as Zuxal started to float in front of her, moving toward what she assumed to be the Pride demon.

“All righty then, I’ll keep that in mind.” Zuxal said, 

They walked in silence, it eventually decided to ask, “why’d the clan kick you out?”

The question was cutting, and right to the point, but it said that in an offhand way, like it was asking about the weather. “They didn’t kick me out,” Fiova replied.

“And yet... here you are with humans in a human tower. Under human control.”

“City elves end up in there too.”

“They might as well be humans, though.”

“Well, I don’t know about that...”

“Back to the question,” it replied, “why aren’t you in one of those aravels instead of being here in the Fade with a demon?”

Fiova didn’t answer. She looked away from him, electing to avoid the question as much as possible.

“Ah, there’s no answer that you know of, is there? You just got abandoned and left to the Templar Wolves.” It moved to stand on the ground and walk beside Fiova, tired of floating through Fade magics. “For what it's worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but you’ll be able to see them as you go.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I picked you because I can see your whole life. The Fade doesn’t have one fixed point in time. It exists at all times, and none of them. If that makes any sense at all.”

Fiova noted the Black City in the distance, instead of trying to figure out that comment.

“Oh are we doing the silent treatment now?” Zuxal asked, crossing his arms in annoyance. “Look, I gave you a blanket apology because I know what I am, and I know that eventually things will get bad and... and some stuff will happen... but I want to help that not happen. I’m not like the others, where they morph completely. I’m... not a bad demon.”

“All demons are bad. They embody a sin.” Fiova said curtly.

“But virtues in abundance are just as bad.”

“Name one.” Fiova challenged.

“Charity. You end up giving so much away that there’s nothing left for you, and then what do you have at the end? A fat lot of nothing.”

“Compassion can’t be bad.”

“You end up trying to fix people. They don’t want to be fixed sometimes. Sometimes, they want to break you so that you can’t fix anyone else. They’re selfish about your compassion, stealing it all away for themselves and turning you away. Your heart on your sleeve, it’ll be cut by your own hand. I pity compassion spirits, actually. They’re so fragile.”

“Oh,” was all Fiova could say. Some of his comments made no sense, but a lot of sense. She figured demons were always this indecipherable.

“But... I wish I was a spirit. I’m always a demon, you know? Everyone sees me as a demon, so...”

“What’s your spirit name, then? I could try and see you as-”

“It doesn’t work like that, and,” it said, “I’ve forgotten. I don’t think I’ve ever had one, actually.”

Fiova tried really hard not to see the demon as sympathetic, but it was a losing battle. “Well, I think that’s stupid. You’re like, the most friendly demon I’ve ever met. If that counts for anything.”

“I’ll take it. I mean, by now most mages would have obliterated me, so I’ll take this as a win. Oh, we’re almost there. I was expecting more demons to be here.”

“Why? Do they just flock around this Pride demon or what?”

“No, but today’s a Harrowing. Lots of mages at once, which means a lot of chances to leave the Fade. It’s one of the few constants of the Fade, that after a bit mages just show up in droves for fight a random demon.”

“But I thought you said that the demon I wanted to fight wasn’t you?”

“Yeah, they did. They just really don’t like you, so they dropped you near a Pride demon. I’m just a random encounter.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“We’re here,” Zuxal said, floating up to the side of a huge door, littered with tree carvings and huge and ornate door knockers. Deep purple light pulsed under the door. “Are you ready to fight a Pride demon?”

“Do I get much of a choice in the matter?”

Zuxal thought for moment, slowly descending from where it'd been floating next to the door. “Nope!”

And so, Fiova walked up to the door, pushing it open...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession Time: I’ve sat on this one for a while, because I thought it wasn’t good enough but screw that! I’m gonna post it anyway! Disclaimer: the color of hearts and music accompanying them was not meant to invoke Undertale. This was thought of before I played Undertale.
> 
> Scream in my inbox:  
> darkeyednobody.tumblr.com


	3. Betrayal of the Soul

“Ugh, Duncaaannnnnnnn...”

“No.”

“I wasn’t going ask-”

“We are not there yet, Alistair.”

Alistair, a blond haired boy who was old enough to be considered a man, pouted in the passenger seat of the car.

“You can’t blame me if I’m anxious to see this mythical flying tower,” he said, staring out the window at the sky. Nothing was insight but clouds, and it even looked as though it were going to rain.

“I’ll be a minor miracle if any of us can find it in all these clouds.” Duncan said, looking up to try and see as well, but he quickly returned his eyes to the road, noting the Lake Calenhad sign that would give them the directions to the lake. “Either way, since the Harrowing is today, it’s likely that they’re hovering over Lake Calenhad to conserve energy.”

“What do they run on? I don’t think that Chantry would allow them to run on mage power alone. Their image would be stained if it got out that they’re using slave labor.” Alistair started to breathe on the window to draw on it. The mist lingered, testifying to how cold it was outside.

He wondered where the storm had come from, it had been clear only an hour ago...

“I’m afraid no one knows but the Chantry, Alistair. But... if I had to hazard a guess...” Duncan seemed hesitant. Alistair, on the other hand, was paying close attention to Duncan’s next words, “it is indeed mage power. In supplement to some kind of battery.”

“That isn’t right.”

“Weren’t you going to be a Templar, Alistair?” Duncan replied, a smile playing on his lips.

“That doesn’t stop me from saying that mages are people. Asking them to-”

“I know, but don’t worry about it. Grey Wardens cannot change the state of world, only stop Blights.”

Alistair happened to know about the treaties that the Grey Wardens had made, and knew that the Grey Wardens probably had more power than most of the other kingdoms put together. Grey Wardens could probably change the world if pressed.

Still didn’t make what the Chantry did to mages right.

~~~

Fiova discovered that what was behind the door was probably infinitely worse than anything she imagined. Given that this was the Fade, and that entailed that anything terrifying was limited to her imagination, Fiova decided that nothing could prepare her for what she saw.

It was a coliseum, something she'd only read about in books. Filling the seats were spirits and demons alike, watching her enter alone. Zuxal had vanished from her side, and she tread into the dusty and broken down coliseum on her own, trying to look brave in the face of fear.

Don’t panic... don’t panic... or it’ll get worse.

It got worse anyway.

At the side of the Pride Demon she assumed she was supposed to be fighting, sat Zuxal, floating carelessly like it did before. With every step she felt slightly more betrayed, but all the same it was what she got for trusting a demon. She wouldn’t do that ever again in her life. Granted, her life was going to last only a few more minutes, but she wouldn’t trust any demons in those minutes anyway.

“Bahaha,” the Pride Demon laughed, “yet another mage to kill! Such a bountiful crop this year, and the Templars think they’re clever by standing by. Why, I bet even Zuxal could fool them. The stupid morons think that I want out of the Fade, too.”

Fiova took a step back.

“Oh, but don’t worry. They only send the ones they don’t like here. No offence, but my dear girl, I believe that you’ve been given a death sentence. Still, you’ll provide amusement to the Fade. So much changes, but the humans always have set dates for everything that this constant event is highly amusing to everyone!” The Pride Demon laughed more.

Fiova felt her stomach drop into her shoes, but she tried to stand her ground.

“Hmm, to start... you appear to attract Despair Demons, my girl. Don’t let them snuff your candle too early or I’ll never be able to snuff you out by myself.”

What were Despair Demons? Ice? She could do fire magic easily, she had a natural affinity for it. Or was that Desire Demons that had ice? Both of them?

I’m going to die.

A fireball flickered to life as a chill entered the arena.

I’m going to die here.

Frost started to decorate the floor of the arena, and Fiova jerked away from it, remembering that for some reason she was barefoot here.

I don’t want to die.

The first fire ball went off without a hitch, nailing the Despair Demon right in the face, and it vanished. The second puttered out as it was being formed, and Fiova narrowly avoided an icy beam sent at her.

I can’t dodge forever.

Fiova sent a cone of fire at the second and it vanished. She didn’t keep count on how many were left, but instead took an icicle to her right arm for not paying enough attention to her surroundings. Fiova blasted the offending injury with an unformed fire spell to keep the ice from spreading to the whole arm.

Once it was gone she hurled another fireball with her good arm. It was draining to keep going, but she took pride in knowing that she’d take down as many Despair Demons as she could.

I’m going to kick Zuxal’s ass if I end up a spirit.

The spite was enough fuel for a second cone of fire and suddenly she realized that she’d killed all of them. It had only been four, but it felt like the fight had lasted an eternity. When it was over her breath lingered in the cold air, but slowly she felt like she could maybe win this.

“Bahaha, I like you! Idiot, patch her up for my fight with her. And no tricks! I want her to die screaming,” the Pride Demon said, pulling at something that Fiova couldn’t quite make out.

“What if you told her your name? Then she could die screaming it?” Zuxal said, its tone part bored and part strained. It sounded like someone who was trying to hide something and was doing it poorly.

“Hmm, maybe if she hits me. Now fix the human, idiot.”

And just like that Zuxal was down by Fiova’s side once again, holding some bandages and poultices. She shied away from it, but Zuxal was too quick. Soon, her arm felt well enough to move freely, and she wasn’t as tired.

Fiova noticed that around Zuxal’s wrists and ankles were red marks, and they looked raw. If she had to hazard a guess, they were from chains and manacles too small and tight on the demon’s wrists and ankles.

Fiova turned away to avoid looking at it and falling into another trap. She was still mad for even getting into this situation to begin with. She wasn’t about to forgive it again and let it play on her heartstrings for a second time.

“You know how to defeat Pride, right?” Zuxal asked.

“Humility?” Fiova said, glaring in the direction away from the demon. She didn’t care if it heard her or not.

“You don’t let it roll all over you. Pride, like everything else, is good in moderation.” It replied.

“Says the Desire demon.”

“Oh how you wound me, my lady.”

Fiova rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, you killing him would do me a big favor. Kill him, and I’ll vow my allegiance to you. No strings attached twenty four hour demon power at your fingertips.”

“No thanks.”

“I’ll owe you a favor. And kid,” Zuxal said, and Fiova felt a sense of dread grow in her stomach, “I promise you that it’ll be a lifesaver when it happens.”

“What?”

“Time’s up, dear! Good luck,” Zuxal leaned close so that only Fiova could hear the next part, “and don’t forget that this is the Fade mmkay?”

With a pop and tiny amount of purple flame Zuxal was gone.

She was still trying to decipher what it had said before. Would surviving mean that she’d become an abomination? She hoped not, because all she’d done was get dropped into this situation.

The Pride Demon loomed over her.

It was large and menacing, and she had to crane her neck in order to see its face. Fiova gripped her dagger tightly, her only weapon. There was so much time passing between the start of the match and the current moment. It felt like it stretched on for an eternity, and Fiova started to lsoe her nerve in those few seconds.

It led with a smash of it’s right fist down onto her. It fell slowly, and Fiova briefly wondered if she should give up. It’d be easier to end it all right here and now. Maybe she’d be reborn. She’d like to be reborn into an Orlesian human noble if she could.

But then... Jowan. Cullen.

Fiova snapped out of it in just enough time to feel the air rush past her as she rolled out of the way, barely managing to stick the landing on her feet.

I’m not dying here!

“Ooo, look at you filling yourself with pride,” the demon snarled. She could hear the ego dripping from the words.

“Come on! That the best you’ve got? I got hit by Despair demons! You’re lower on the Circle’s hierarchy of demons!” she fired back, not allowing herself to get frozen like that.

“Insolent brat! I’ll smash you!” it roared and overhead striked with both hands this time, the electricity sparking all around.

Fiova dodged again, barely managing to outrun the strike and the small shockwave that came with it. When it cleared Fiova ran at the demon, not quite sure what she was doing, but before the thought occurred to her she was vaulting the demon’s lowered arms, and attempting to bring her tiny dagger down in the demon’s head.

It was stuck in deep, but it wasn’t enough, and Fiova was flung towards a wall where she bounced off of it and landed on the dusty floor. Her head was swimming from adrenaline and pain, but she managed to stagger to her feet.

“Bitch!” the demon screamed, more angry than hurt.

“Is that your name, ugly?” she fired back.

The demon backhanded her so hard she ended up on the other side of the arena, and Fiova had to gasp for breath as she staggered to her feet. She was weaponless, scared, and alone. But she was in the Fade. And mages could shape it any way they wanted.

So Fiova pulled down the sky.

She reached out and felt the soft drum of the Fade, sharp and clear, and Fiova added her grey and dingy song to that and felt the sky shift. She pulled it all down, shaped it into fire, and watched as a plume of fire crashed down on the Pride demon, and the arena was nearly enveloped in flame.

“Atta girl,” Zuxal said, casually drifting next to Fiova. “But don’t worry dear, that fight’s not over yet.”

When the fires cleared, the Pride demon stood up, worse for wear but still alive. Fiova didn’t hesitate, she ran forward, reaching into the Fade. She didn’t know what she was grabbing, but she felt the Fade bend around her hand, and she jumped.

The demon attempted to swat at her with it’s hands again, but missed. Fiova vaulted over it again, using it as a springboard again to drive down whatever it was she had pulled from the Fade.

In her hands, it formed into a sword, plain at first glance, but humming with magic. It sang grey notes as Fiova landed the killing blow, letting the whole Fade resound with the music of Fiova’s heart and the death rattle of the Pride demon.

Zuxal zipped over to her side, catching her as she started to black out from exhaustion. It smiled, but it didn’t seem all that sinister. If anything, it seemed a little too warm to be on a demon’s face.

“I owe you one, friend. Don’t worry about the future, we’ve got this.”

Then Fiova left the Fade and collapsed in the Harrowing chamber, the echoes of her magic churning the clouds around the tower and her power ringing around the Fade.

Alistair Therin pondered the strange shift in the weather.

A Chantry Sister watched in amazement as a rose bloomed before her very eyes.

A Qunari with no soul watched as he became surrounded.

The Swamp Witches awoke from their naps to avoid the midday sun only to discover it covered by unpredicted storms.

An assassin arrived in Ferelden, and noted the smell of wet dog while missing the smell of Antivan leather.

A woman once tranquil stopped her work as her thoughts were once again hers.

The stone statue watched birds flee.

The Mabari all turned their heads towards one particular Mabari.

A dwarf felt the air down below shift, but blamed it on the ale.

 

The dominoes fell into place, and Zuxal grinned once again as he wandered the implications of what he had just done, tampering with history as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops guess who put off writing in favor of video games again?  
> This kid!
> 
> Don't worry, I'll try to update more once summer starts for me, which about middle of may.
> 
> If you like it please put a comment down below! Even if it's just to tell me you wanted to leave extra kudos that's fine! Every comment motivates me to work more!


	4. Tranquility from Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

A white haired old woman worked at a computer, typing what would be indecipherable garbage to anyone who wasn’t specialized in the work. She looked blankly ahead as she typed, her fingers carelessly pounding the keys.

Her brand flared out from beneath her white hair, red beneath white and almost as raw and red as the day they placed it upon her forehead.

A waver in the Fade. A spirit gained the courage to act.

“Wynne. You have ceased the function that you have been assigned.”

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t understand what’s-”

“Wynne. Please resume work. Say nothing. Remain calm. End of day, we shall make plans.”

“Y-yes.”  
~~~

Fiova concluded that being unconscious was awful. Even worse, every muscle in her body ached and protested every single movement or muscle twitch. So, of course, breathing felt like she was slowly setting herself on fire. But, she passed.

Victory.

She wondered if victory always meant pain or if it was just her being her usual dumb self. Then she realized if she’d bumped her head so many times if that meant victory. Mostly meant that she needed to get her head out of the metaphorical clouds. 

Back to the main point. How many days passed? Why was she in her actual bunk?

Her bunk was not dissimilar to her Fade one, where it was bolted to the wall, but somehow it was bumpier and less comfortable. Not to mention she couldn't see the ceiling because of the person’s bed above her. She was grateful that the mage above her never had any wild parties and came back secretly drunk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it made bottom bunk always suffer. Plus, all the mages in the room always hated having to take care of the ones who couldn’t hold their liquor.

Fiova couldn’t blame them for going overboard, because there were so few things they could actually do in this place that didn’t involve Templar supervision people reveled in it more. Especially the kids who stumbled into the party and couldn’t be sent back without drawing attention.

Surprisingly, Fiova had never heard of any drunk mages wandering off of the tower. Falling off bunks and sleeping in other bunks, yes. Fiova wondered if the mages kept that a secret so they could keep their privileges on going outside.

Being drunk would be better than this, though.

At the very least she knew that alcohol tended to dull the senses somewhat, so that every moment wouldn’t be agony, but here she was. In her bunk, breathing real air in the real world and it felt... great. Except for the miserable pain, of course.

The red notes played in the hallway, and she dimly realized that Jowan was out there, and the rest of the mages were simply asleep. Normally, unless she was listening intently for him Jowan’s music was always far away, buried under a chaos of sound and piercing silence. Now, it was clear and calming, but also a reassurance that yes, she was back. She was fine. But now she had to pretend that she wasn’t terrified by what the Templars had done. What that demon -Zuxal, Fiova recalled with a grimace- had told her along with that pride demon.

She’d been sent to where rejects go to die. She always knew she was too feisty, too much personality for them to tolerate, but somehow she’d always hoped that she’d make it through all of this intact.

That she wouldn’t become-

“You’re awake!” Jowan crowed, loudly and without a hint of regret. “It’s been half a day, and even the Templars were surprised that you could sleep for so long.”

Fiova could read between the lines, the Templars were surprised I came back alive.

“You know me, never one to turn down a good nap even after the smallest of tasks,” Fiova replied, more staring at the top bunk than turning to look at Jowan. Turning her head was just too painful to do right now, anyway.

Jowan laughed, “that is true. Not even you knew how you managed to get up into the rafters for a nap that one day.”

“The magic of laziness and some levitation,” she replied without missing a beat. “Mostly climbing and laziness, though. I don’t think anyone can just levitate on their own.”

“Nah you’re gifted, I bet that you did manage it.”

“Gifted at screwing up, maybe.” Fiova sat up, ignoring the waves of pain from her tired muscles. “So, damage report: how badly did I manage to anger the Templars this time?”

“No idea, they haven’t even posted any results from anyone’s exams this time. Usually, they’re up by now so we can at least mourn the dead, but... silence. Word is, whatever you did is messing up a lot more than just the tests. Cullen let slip something about a battery.”

A templar walked past the door, marching in the hallway with purpose. It wasn’t Cullen, so Jowan lowered his voice.

“I don’t know if they’ll make you Tranquil or not. They sometimes do this when someone too powerful comes along,” Jowan whispered. “They take someone powerful and make them Tranquil because they say it’s a risk to have a powerful mage in the tower. Something about how the tower floats becoming off balance or something.”

Templar lies at their finest.

Fiova tried not to let the fear show on her face. “Okay. Okay. It’ll be okay, Jowan, I promise. I’ll be fine.”

Jowan’s expression was too difficult to read and then he gave her some elfroot for the pain and nodded. Then he was gone, into the the hallway where Fiova couldn’t see, and then his music vanished. She flopped back down on her bed, chewing on the elfroot as she did so, hoping that she wouldn’t be helpless for long. Fiova just wanted to pretend that she wasn’t facing down what would be a death sentence.

She’d always been afraid of Tranquil on some level, beyond logic or reasoning. Even beyond the fact that standing near them hurt her ears. She’d always been afraid of them, like they were just reminders of every mage who was decided too dangerous and how they all ended up. Fiova had done something in the Fade that was beyond the acceptable limits of power, and she’d pulled out a sword from nowhere. Even now, she thought about how it had hummed with energy and her music.

“A sword...” Fiova said under her breath, like saying it would bring an answer to her prayer.

I hope the elven gods really do exist, because the Maker is kind of a bastard for letting us all have to deal with His followers. Maybe one of them will be kind enough to make sure I at least manage to jump off the tower before I become Tranquil.

She barely even knew what the Tranquil did for the tower, besides menial office tasks. They just kind of stood around like watchdogs on certain days and other days there weren’t any where the mages could reach. Fiova did seriously wonder about it when she was younger, going as far as she could sneak in as a ten year old with determination. Which was to say... not very far. She knocked over a vase about five feet past some templars and was hauled back to her room to think about what she’d done to the vase and to ask the Maker’s forgiveness for doing breaking it in the first place.

Needless to say, she didn’t exactly end up following their teachings. She didn’t even know the elven gods’ names, but she liked to often invoke the ones she’d heard from a few other elven mages who’d actually grown up around other elves.

Huh, probably also part of why she was hated by the Templars.

Fiova drifted into sleep, dreaming of the sky elves again. She didn’t notice the purple notes interwoven into the dream, but she smiled as she dreamed.

**v**

“Duncan, how long does it take for them to lower a ladder or whatever it is down for us to get up there? I’m soaked,” Alistair complained. In the last stretch of the journey, they had to get out and walk the gravel roads, and only in the last thirty minutes of that did it finally open up and rain buckets down onto the pair.

“Well, that depends on if they aren’t dealing with anything major after their rituals for inducting new mages,” Duncan answered, calm from underneath his umbrella.

Alistair sneezed.

“They must be with this...” Duncan mumbled to himself.

Alistair wondered why there seemed to be a glint in the old man’s eye, one that looked suspiciously like the kind he got when he was about to pull a prank.

“Why a tower in the sky, anyway? Seems awful inconvenient for people who need to get up there to do any sort of business. Not to mention, they have to deal with Sky Pirates flying nearby.” Alistair said, trying to inch under the umbrella.

“That’s the point, and if you brainwash a bunch of people then you have control of them. But... I did send a letter to them about my arrival, a few emails as well.” Duncan said, mysteriously stroking his beard as he thought about the implications of a boat not being ready for them. Templars were sticklers for rules, Alistair knew.

Alistair finally started to warm up and feel like he wasn’t being dumped on by a bucket when Duncan moved the umbrella suddenly, letting all the rain slide towards Alistair.

At least a perk of being a Grey Warden was resistance to becoming sick. But another sneeze probably told Alistair that despite that, he’d soon come down with a cold anyway.

**v**  
“-wake up,” Jowan hissed in a low tone.

“Five more minutes, mom...” Fiova mumbled, before she was unceremoniously pulled out of her cot, blankets and all.

Fiova scrambled around in her blanket, silently trying to get into a position where she’d be able to fight, but she only ended up tangling herself in blankets. The wisps of her comforting dream drifted away as as recognized Jowan, and the dark halls of the tower that signified nighttime.

She’d really slept that long?

“Come on!” Jowan harshly whispered, trying not to wake up anyone or alert the Templar patrolling the halls. He grabbed her arm, managing to grab the one not covered in ratty, old blanket and pulled Fiova along. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Jowan was so... confident? What happened while she was asleep?

Fiova voiced her terrified thoughts, “what do you mean I’m getting out?”

“The phylacteries.” was all Jowan said before pulling her down the hall.

Every mage knew about the tower phylacteries. After all, every single one of them remembered how it felt to have the blood taken from you, and the feeling of a leash around their neck when it was finished. In Templar hands, they could literally track every single mage and their current state of health just by touching one. Files upon files were kept about each mage, but those were meaningless if they didn’t have a phylactery to go with it.

Fiova read once it was what liches used to remain alive after they died. But she imagined that if that were the case, then not so many mages would vanish as they did. And not without a word from the Templars either.

The duo arrived at the tall, menacing door that lead down into the vault where the Tranquil worked and where the phylacteries were stored. Cullen stood out in front, looking out for someone. Once he saw Fiova and Jowan, he waved them out quickly.

“I know I’m not supposed to be doing this, but...” Cullen bit his lip. “I don’t like Templar Serena’s ruling on this. Making you Tranquil or killing you... we shouldn’t even offer mages that option before we act out their.... punishment... they’re both too extreme.”

Cullen was going against orders, Fiova realized. For her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Well, thank me after you get out. You’re just lucky some Grey Wardens are coming by to try and recruit people, so the boat’s out where mages can get it.” Cullen said.

“C-can we hurry up and get in before somebody comes by?” Jowan asked while looking down the hallway as though Templars were marching down it at that moment.

With that, they were ushered into the darkness beyond the door and it closed with a quiet thud behind them. No turning back now, Fiova thought grimly.

And into the darkness they went.

It took much longer than Fiova would have preferred to let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, but she figured that it wouldn’t be bright either, given that they don’t expect anyone to be going down this late at night.

But eventually the walls appear out of the darkness, old stone with torches on the walls. Grime covers the stone, and it’s mossy in some places due to the sheer humidity of the room and how poorly the walls seem to absorb it. The designs that had been on the walls were not crusted over with age and moss, and mostly blank. The torches are old school, requiring fire to be lit for a set amount of time and are mounted to the walls with rusted steel. However, on some of the torches Fiova can still see warm embers just now dying out. She can’t tell how recently it was lit, but she knows for a fact that there might still be people nearby if she can see embers, and Jowan is now on edge too.

Quickly, the two move through the hall, trying to spot light ahead if there is any. Fiova, for once, is totally silent.

Then they see it. The soft glow ahead of them that isn’t torchlight, but not easily identifiable as a flashlight either. A figure stands behind it and it’s female and older but it’s hard to tell much more than that. Jowan and Fiova look at each other, and Fiova continues forward, quietly trying to get behind the woman.

The light moves, up and over the woman’s head and Fiova can see it’s a spirit. Fiova knows Templars can’t summon them, and now the robes of a Tranquil can be easily seen. It’s like some kind of paradox, where you have a Tranquil with a summon spirit beside them and Fiova freezes to the spot.

The woman turns with perfect dramatic timing and says, “it’s about time you two got down here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I'm going to motivate myself to post more often! Maybe re-establish the weekly updates or maybe bi-weekly for this.
> 
> Come say hi! I'm now nobodywriter on tumblr dot com! This blog is specifically for writing and all that, so expect regular updates to happen with this blog in particular.


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